Zero
by Anonymously Kay
Summary: Brendan Birch was the school's Prince of Tennis and future Valedictorian...but he hides a secret love for sewing. He doesn't know is that it's all about to change... just as soon as May Maple figures out how to hold a racket. Hoennshipping AU, oneshot.


Zero

Summary: As far as anyone knew, Brendan Birch was the school's Prince of Tennis and future Valedictorian. But, behind all this, he hides a secret love for fashion and sewing. What he doesn't know is that it's all about to change... just as soon as May Maple figures out how to hold her tennis racket. Hoennshipping, high school AU, oneshot.

Genres: Romance/Humor

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Author's Note: I sincerely apologize for any of my stories that have not been updated (ESPECIALLY Drew Versus Cookies). My only excuse is that I'm on a HUGE Hoennshipping streak- and, due to this, I find myself temporarily unable to write anything Contestshipping-related. I don't know how long it will last; I've had this kind of writer's block for three years before.

As far as any other unfinished stories... I blame basic laziness. :)

I only hope that you can all forgive me and... erm, NOT show up in front of my house, threatening to blow it up using a combination of toaster strudels and banana peels (also, peanuts can be used as an ingredient in dynamite! How cool is that?).

Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon or any other related topic. This has nothing to do with the game "Prince of Tennis" (or is it a manga?). I just like the term. :) The only things I own are the plot, the basic idea, and a tennis racket (my inspiration).

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This is dedicated to my _own_ "Prince of Tennis", with much love (and virtual tennis balls n.n).

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If Brendan had to describe the best feeling in the world, he'd say it was a cross between a _THUD!_ and a _PONG!_ This is, to say, the sensation of a tennis ball twanging off a racket, the reverberations sending a minuscule tremor up his arm, his body and mind both together, yet separate, and the rush of adrenaline as he prepared to return the next hit.

He removed his white, lightweight visor and ran a hand through short, black hair. The match was over, and he had been the victor- as always. Lightly smiling and straightening his blue-and-orange team uniform (he wondered for a second who designed it; the hues _so_ obviously clashed), he sat down on the nearby bench.

"_Stupid, stupid!_" he thought. "_I knew I shouldn't have tried to hit that serve overhand! I only won by two points that time... why can't I do anything right? First, I screw up that one question on the math homework... when two x squared plus thirty eight x minus one-hundred fifty-four equals fifty-six, and you must round your answers to the nearest tenth, it is obviously not four point four and twenty two point five! Not to mention, that was only review from last year... And then, I botch the repair on my sleeve and tangle the string embroidering my scarf!_"

"Brendan, dude," said a boy with a red cap and a Pikachu pendant. "You totally kicked that guy's butt- the Marshtomps are sure to win this season with you on the team!"

Brendan smiled a little and replied to Ash, "I'm not exactly Olympic-worthy, but I'll try my best to live up to that!"

"Don't worry about that; you love tennis! And the more passion you put into something, the better you'll end up at it, right?" answered Ash merrily, removing his cap and running his fingers through messy black hair.

"Uh... right..." said Brendan, trying to smile. Ash remained oblivious.

Truthfully, while tennis produced his greatest feelings of euphoria, he didn't really like it as much as he enjoyed coordinating outfits and embroidering handkerchiefs. This was because after the mad delight, there was always a crash- sort-of like a sugar rush. There was a high, soon followed by exhaustion and regret, wishing that he could have served to the left instead of the right, or managed to run quickly enough to catch that ball. When sewing, he could always go back and fix things. Is this stitch a little too crooked? Well, undo a few, and correct it. Are these sleeves of equal length? Simply take one up or down a bit. It was not a very complex affair; with two or three types of stitches you could sew pretty much anything. A little measuring here, a little snipping there, a knot there, and everything would comply harmoniously.

Brendan was not a fan of intricate procedures, for the more complicated a thing was, the more likely it was to make a vital error that could destroy everything. The snipping of a cord in an electronic could possibly allow you to remove and replace a broken piece, but if you choose the wrong wire or databoard, the mainframe circuitry could become permanently damaged. With a simplistic book, however, one can fix an over-worn cover by simply taping cardboard over it, no confusion needed. Similarly, with a needle, thread, and cloth, it is easy to repair a hole in your shirt. There's no question about where the hole is, or how to fix it, or what cloth to use (the patchwork style was, after all, becoming increasingly popular).

With that being said, Ash's statement was terribly ironic.

---The Next Day: Lunch Period, The Tennis Courts---

Brendan was staring at his packed lunch thoughtfully. Leftover rice and vegetables, as usual. Pulling out a fork, he began to eat.

Less than a minute later, Ash sat down with a girl he had never seen before. A red bandanna topped off a red shirt, white skirt, and biker shorts... and where on Earth did she pick up that horrendous hairstyle? Glancing at her eyes (beautiful, large blue eyes, sparkling like an iridescent ocean swimming with naivety) he knew he had to do something to fix this walking fashion crisis- her looks were too good for such horrid clothing.

"Why are your eyes all red?" she suddenly asked. "Oh, by the way, my name is May. Teehee, that rhymes!"

"Contacts. The company I got them from messed up the order and I didn't really feel like changing them," he explained.

"Cool!" she exclaimed cheerfully. "Ash, you never told me your friend had such cool contacts! They're such pretty contacts! I want a pair of contacts like that!"

Contacts, on such perfect eyes?

"No," said Brendan, perhaps a little too loudly. "Erm, I mean, they're kind-of annoying, you know, cleaning them and replacing them and that sort of thing."

"Heeeeeeeeeey, wait! My mom wears contacts and... mmmmgfsgnkdjg!" Ash tried (and failed) to say, Brendan's hand obscuring his mouth.

"Misty does that ALL the time in English class!" May sputtered through laughter. "Everybody seems to want Ash to shut up!"

"It's not funny," Ash protested, mock-pouting.

"Yes it is," insisted both Brendan and May, simultaneously.

They turned and smiled at each other, already enjoying the new friendship.

---Many Weeks Later: After School, The Tennis Courts---

May was watching Brendan and Ash casually volley the ball back and forth over the... little-fence-thingie, whatever it was called. She smiled happily, swinging her viola case and entering the area. She sat on a bench, thoroughly entertained, just... _watching_. Well, "staring", really... actually, "stalking" might work, too, but that's a bit of a stretch, don't you think?

May pulled out a notebook and started taking notes on what the boys were doing. Erm, scratch that last statement there... "stalking" is a very appropriate word to use.

"Hey, May!" exclaimed Ash, noticing her presence. "Doing homework?"

"Yup!" she replied. Under her breath, she muttered, "Sort-of."

Brendan cocked his eyebrow. Darn it; he was already suspicious of her motives! She smiled innocently at him and prayed he fell for it.

"Well, I'll see you guys," said Ash. "My mom wants me home by three-thirty, I have a dentist's appointment today."

He left, leaving Brendan and May alone.

"So, Brendan, how have you been?" asked May, starting to converse.

"Um, pretty good. There's a cold front heading in from the North, so we should expect some rain soon."

"Ooo! I like the rain! It's pretty and glittery and it tickles my nose, just like snow! Ooo! I like snow, too! Do you like the snow?"

"Snow is pretty, I guess... but the one thing that bothers me is that it's so... _cold_."

"'There is no cold, there is only the absence of warmth,'" quoted May.

"Who said that?" questioned Brendan.

"Albert Einstein."

"So... when people are mean, they're only mean because they're not nice?"

"Or maybe you could look at it as they're not nice because they're mean."

"But then how do we know whether cold is the absence of warmth or warmth is the absence of cold?"

"I'm confused."

"Me too."

They laughed, basking in a gentle silence.

"Hey Brendan?" May inquired, softly ending it.

"Yeah?"

"I'm just curious; why do you have that thread hanging out of your shirt?"

"What!?!" Brendan yelped. Hastily, he searched for the thread, then pulled out a needle from his pocket and repaired the seam.

"Oooo! That's so cool, where did you learn to sew?"

"Erm, eep!" he replied. "Nobody's supposed to know about that!"

"Why? What's wrong with knowing how to sew?" May wondered, flabbergasted.

"Nothing... it's just that people make fun of you if you're a boy who can sew..." he sighed.

In a rare burst of wisdom, May said, "It sounds to me you've had some experience with that."

"Yeah..." Brendan half-whispered. "I, uh, made the mistake of telling one of my... ex-friends, if you understand what I mean. The next day, he showed up with a whole bunch of other boys... they pushed me around and made fun of me... I found out later they only accepted him into their little 'cult' because he told them my secret."

"That's horrible!" exclaimed May. She growled, baring her teeth (Brendan backed away slowly). "Where are those guys!? I'd like to give them a piece of my mind!"

"Erm... at my old school, I think. It happened before I moved here."

"Darn it," she pouted. "I would've showed them. I hate bullies like that; I used to have a whole bunch of them after me because I liked to wrestle."

"Really?" he asked. "What happened?"

"I beat them up after the second time, and they haven't bothered me since!" she announced cheerfully. Brendan sweatdropped. Their situations weren't exactly comparable.

"I wish I could say the same... I still get the occasional incriminating e-mail..."

"I don't really understand what you like so much about sewing, anyways. All the little stitches and intricate patterns... it would drive me crazy!"

"It's really quite easy," Brendan mentioned. "I can teach you, if you'd like."

"No thanks," she answered. "That's why I picked up viola... stupid school doesn't have a girls wrestling team."

"That's discriminatory."

"Not really; not enough girls are interested in wrestling to make a whole team, so we don't have one."

"Okay then. Just one question, though- why the viola?"

"Cos they're cooler than violins! No offense to anyone who plays one, of course."

Brendan had to laugh at that.

"May, our school orchestra is practically empty. It's you on the viola, Wally on the cello, and Paul on the bass. There isn't a violin player for miles around!"

"Nuh-uh! My brother plays the violin!"

"...I stand corrected."

"How about you? Do you play any instruments?"

"No, the only thing I play is tennis."

"You know what? Why don't we have a match tomorrow!? I'll probably lose, but it'll be fun!" suggested May

"All right then," he smiled. "I'll see you, I've got to go home now."

"Bye!"

"See ya."

All of a sudden, both of their days seemed a little brighter.

---The Next Day: After School, The Tennis Courts---

"Hi."

"Hey."

They smiled at each other.

"Let's start."

"This will be a one-on-one match between Brendan Birch, Prince of Tennis-" shouted Brock, a senior tennis player (and temporary commentator). He was interrupted my many fangirlish cheers.

"-and May Maple!" he finished. Ash began cheering, but then he looked around to notice that nobody else was, so he gradually quieted.

"Gaaaaaaaaaaaaaaame on!" exclaimed Brock, winking at a group of fangirls. No response. He pouted dissapointedly.

Brendan was about to serve when he noticed something unusual.

"May, you're holding your racket upside down."

"Uhhh... oops?"

As a matter of fact, this mood reflected the whole match... as is the norm, Brendan dominated. The spectators dispersed, save for Ash (who fell asleep). Brock went off to chase after some pretty girl.

"I win," stated Brendan flatly, lightly smiling. "You're at love."

"That's wrong," protested May.

Brendan looked at her, confused.

"I'm _in_ love," she corrected. Blushing, she said, "With you, that is."

His eyes softened and he replied, "Oh."

"U-u-u-um... bye!" she shouted, breaking into a run. Before she managed to get more than a few feet away, Brendan had caught up to her and gently grasped her wrist.

"Actions speak louder," he murmured hoarsely before softly pressing his lips to hers. He quickly backed off, too nervous to continue.

"They do," she agreed, and embraced him once more.

And, even though she lost the match, it was like she still won anyway.

_Thus ends the tale of May and Brendan... who met, courted, and fell in love on a tennis court._

**FIN.**

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Author's Note: Just thought you might like to know, "Brendan" is Gaelic (Irish) for "Prince". Also, "at love" is a terminology used to describe a tennis score of zero. Please send constructive criticism, I accept anonymous reviews! Even if you have an account that you're too lazy to log in on, you can put "Author" as the name and write "I'm too lazy to log in XP", followed by your suggestions. :) I don't mind!


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